Deviation
by Pingpongfreak
Summary: The Doctor sets time aside to properly mourn the loss of Clara. The TARDIS has other ideas. For those of us who just can't wait for the Christmas special. (River/Twelve)


A little blue box could have been spotted in various parts of the village for about three weeks now, if anyone had been paying attention.

The first time she'd landed herself, her thief had simply resigned himself to her wishes. He was quiet... morose even, his eyes dark and weary. Out of breath, he'd blinked down at the small dents in the console he'd just made with his fists. She was gone. Really gone this time, and there was no bringing her back. His Clara. Her eyes, so big and dark he could see himself in them...

He couldn't breathe.

Running a somewhat apologetic hand across her console, he'd begged his beloved to take him away. Take him far away, anywhere but here, here where the pain was fresh and the wound wide open. Somewhere he could sit and be alone, somewhere he could think, ACTUALLY think, no interesting new artifacts or fun caves or museums or magic tricks or six-headed sharks or anything to distract him in any way.

No.

He needed to feel this, all of it. He was old enough now to know that. He would not dishonor Clara by simply running away from her memories. No. He would find somewhere to go, to sit, and to think of her. He would mourn her properly, because she deserved at least that. If he could give her nothing else, he could give her his grief.

And when the TARDIS first landed herself, the Doctor didn't run any environment checks, didn't even open the door to look outside. He stood at the console for a long while, still blinking at the little dents he had made, thinking of his Clara and how he wished he had hugged her more. He had just become tolerant of her hugs and now she was gone and he hated himself for desperately needing one. He wished for more time with her, he hadn't been ready to see her go so soon, he wasn't ready for her to go...

That was the irony of being a timelord. He was given all of this time, all of time and space to roam through freely, and there never seemed to be enough. Always running out of time. It was selfish, it was stupid. It made his chest hurt and his eyes burn.

That first night, the Doctor had done exactly what he'd planned. In his favorite armchair, with a cup of tea, he sat and thought of Clara. It was quiet, wherever they'd landed, and he was grateful. In the wee hours of the morning, just as the birds began to chirp outside the TARDIS window, he dozed off.

He couldn't quite remember all of it, but that night, he dreamt of River.

His tea, now cold, was still in his hands. He glanced at his clock- he'd only slept for a few hours. Of course now, time was passing slowly. It would.

Setting the tea down, the Doctor rose from the chair and stretched a bit. He had to give it to them, humans were onto something about the whole sleep thing. Not that it wasn't a complete waste of time, but even those few hours had at least allowed him to process his thoughts a bit more efficiently. Running a hand along the back of his rather stif neck, the old familiar curiosity of where he'd landed began to tug at this brain. He wondered where his love had brought them in the night.

"Alright, old girl," the Doctor said as he sluggishly made his way to the door, "Where did you land us today?"

He opened the door.

No.

NO.

Parked on one of many snowy green hills, the TARDIS sat facing a tiny little house with a blue door in the distance. Oh HELL no.

Turning on his heel, the Doctor cursed under his breath and slammed the door shut, earning him a low groan from his ship.

"Oh don't give me that," the Doctor snarled, making his way very quickly back to the console, "You and I both know you deserve that, and you know bloody hell why!"

As he began to type in new coordinates, the screen went black.

"Oh no you don't, we are leaving!" he shouted, pressing buttons to no avail, "Don't you do this right now, I am very upset with you young lady!" She flashed the entire room red as he slammed his hands down onto the buttons and yanked the now-locked engine release lever. He banged the side of the monitor, and, when nothing happened, he shouted obscenities and kicked the bottom of the console.

After a few moments of pure, unadulterated rage, the Doctor stood in the dark pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed in irritated defeat.

"Please," he whispered, between ragged breaths, "I just don't understand. Why here?" He looked up, waving a hand about, "I mean I understand your concern, and trust me, it's appreciated, but this place? Seriously? I wanted to go somewhere without ghosts of the past, thank you very much, and here you have me parked right in front of her house!"

A loud vorrrp came and the light faded back into the console. The Doctor took the opportunity to check the current coordinates, in the event that he was indeed hallucinating.

Nope. This was definitely fifty-first century Luna, and that tiny little house with the blue door definitely belonged to River Song.

It didn't make any sense. This was the last place he expected to end up.

The Doctor feebly attempted to type in new coordinates once more, and upon the lack of response from his console, he sighed and hung his head in defeat. Why had she brought him here? What good would this do, going back into his dead wife's timeline to interfere with her past, quite possibly changing his future? What was the point?

He sighed and looked to the TARDIS doors. He looked at them for a long while, wondering where River was in her timeline, where she was with... them. Well, not him, he supposed, but Bowtie. He wondered when the last time she'd seen him had been, how far away Darillium was, how far away the library was... he shook his head violently and pressed his eyes into his hands. No, he couldn't do that right now.

If his ship had brought him here, there was hardly any chance of him running into Bowtie, he knew her true dislike for timeline interference and paradoxes all too well. He felt himself peering at the doors again. Inhaling deeply, he slowly walked toward them, curiosity running wildly through his mind. He smoothed his palms over the doors, his eyes closing in memory of her, the way her shoulders looked in that green dress. The green dress she hated, then unwittingly grew to love. The green dress she'd insisted upon wearing the night he took her to Darillium. He thought of the way her eyes had sparkled that night as she gazed up at the sky, the towers glimmering and the stars twinkling above them. The way she'd beamed at him and taken his hand, whispering in the most sincere tone her love for him. He had never said it back, but she knew. River always knew. He had only looked back into those eyes, blue and green and speckled with gold. She'd only smiled sadly and reached out to wipe a tear from his cheek.

He slammed his fist into the door. No. He wasn't going to do this, not today.

He marched over to his console and slammed the engine release down before it locked, typing in coordinates quickly. He had no idea what he was even typing, but it didn't matter. He had to get out of here. He had to run. This was time he had set aside to mourn Clara, not to revisit his long-dead wife and open old wounds. Losing Clara had been hard, but it had been expected. River's death had been known, dreaded, and never acknowledged. River's death had always been his past, had always been run from. Her death was not something to ever be dealt with, because he simply could not.

The TARDIS gave another low groan and shook violently as the time rotor slowly began to move upward. The Doctor growled in frustration as he swung around the console to flip the transit switch that had, of course, stopped working. "Come on!" he bellowed, feeling his way with one hand to the master dematerialization switch, the other hand still on the transit. He knew what this was about, he knew what she was trying to do. He fidgeted with the master in hopes that the transit would give just a bit. When the frustrating little switch proved completely ineffective and he was only seconds from completely dematerializing, the Doctor tried in a desperate effort to stop what he knew was about to happen and reached for the switch to reverse his landing. Just as his fingers touched the master, the ship shook fiercly, sharply sending him to the floor.

His ship gave a triumphant thud as they landed.

"No," he whispered as he scrambled up from the floor to the console, his hands gripping the sides of the monitor and his eyes searching frantically for environment checks. "No, please, I can't do this today."

The screen went black. He cringed at the sound of the doors opening behind him.

His stubborn ship had done it. He knew she wouldn't go very far at all without the transit switch, which he suspected had been her cheeky little plan all along. His eyes shifted nervously to the door, and curiosity began to invade his mind again. Even if his TARDIS would move from this place, why was she so keen on keeping him here? He began to wonder if something was wrong, if perhaps River was in danger...

He carefully moved back to the door, his eyes wide with question. He couldn't stop himself.

With his first step out of the door, he knew he was in trouble.

He'd landed on her rug.


End file.
